


Mummy's Here

by Angelily_Viventis



Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [51]
Category: Alan Rickman - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Alan, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Older Man/Younger Woman, Size Difference, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelily_Viventis/pseuds/Angelily_Viventis
Summary: Aly suffers from sunstroke while Alan has to look after her and an attention-seeking Amelia. Luckily, Mummy's on her way.
Relationships: Alan Rickman/Original Female Character(s), Alan Rickman/Reader
Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [51]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729954
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Mummy's Here

"Go have a lie-down on the sofa, darling," Alan instructs his sickly six-year-old daughter as he carries her school rucksack into the house and hangs it on the coat rack.

Alyson slowly walks over to the tan leather sofa in the living room before she frailty crawls onto it, lying down on her stomach, whimpering.

Alan adjusts Amelia, who is now three, onto his other hip before going into the supply closet in the kitchen to fetch a bucket. He places the bucket by the sofa in case Aly needs to throw up.

"Here, play with Peter while Daddy sorts out, Aly," he hands his youngest the stuffed rabbit as he places her down in the playroom.

She immediately runs over to the mini kitchen, starting to timber away at the plastic pots and pans.

He goes back into the kitchen, setting a tray on the countertop. He places ice chips in a small bowl, pours Pedialyte in a glass, and places two bottles of ice-cold water, all on the tray.

Carefully, he walks over to where Alyson's currently passed out on the sofa, setting the tray on the coffee table before peering into the playroom to see Amelia peacefully playing.

He's just in time to pull Alyson's sandy brown hair back as she bolts forward, and aims for the bucket.

"You're alright," he soothes, gently rubbing her back as she heaves into the bucket again.

"Daddy, I don't feel well," she whimpers, crawling into his side.

"I know, my sweet. We'll get you sorted," he reassures.

"Here, drink this. It will make you feel better," he holds out a spoonful of the kids' paracetamol before she swallows it down with a grimace.

She gulps down half of the Pedialyte that Alan holds out to her before lying down onto the couch again, her body drained and burning red.

 _Incoming_ text:  
 _How is she doing?_

_Rotten. Threw up twice. Once in car. At home now. Gave her paracetamol and Pedialyte. She's sleeping now. AR._

_Incoming text:_   
_Oh, God. Trying to get out of this meeting, but it's never-ending. Will bring after sun and more paracetamol as soon as I'm done here._

_Stop worrying. I can handle them both. Focus on the meeting. We'll cope until you get home later. ILY. AR._

_Incoming text:_   
_Okay, okay. But please do call if you need anything. I love you, too._

He locks his phone and slides it into his pants pocket as he rummages through the pantry for some crackers. Hopefully, Alyson will be able to keep it down this time.

Amelia runs towards the sofa, slamming herself against it.

"Aly?" She whispers urgently.

Alyson's eyes flutter open before answering annoyed, "What?"

"He' ya go."

She can never be annoyed with her little sister for too long. She smiles a weak smile as Amelia hands her Paddington.

"Thanks, Melly," she manages to utter, taking her favorite bear from her and stuffing it into the crook of her neck.

"You okay?"

"No," her voice breaks, "I want Daddy," her bottom lip starts quivering.

"Wait he'," Amelia instructs before running into the kitchen, her tiny feet puttering against the wooden floorboards.

She hates seeing her big sister in pain. Amelia has always been very compassionate and sympathetic, always trying to right a wrong.

"Daddyyy," Amelia calls out in panic into the empty kitchen, Peter Rabbit's ear dragging against the floor.

Alan's heart drops as he sticks his head out from inside the pantry.

"What happened?!"

"Aly crying," she points behind her into the direction of the living room.

A small wave of relief washes over him at hearing no one got hurt, yet he still hurriedly leaves the crackers on the kitchen island as he sprints into the living room.

"Oh, my darling," he scoops her up against his chest as he tries to soothe her, rocking her as he walks back and forth with her through the living room.

"I know it hurts. Daddy's trying everything to make the owie go away."

He takes out his white handkerchief and wipes at her dripping nose, careful not to press too hard on her sunburnt skin.

The next half hour is spent holding Alyson's hair back as she throws up three more times, filling her up with more Pedialyte, and keeping Amelia out of trouble.

"Amelia!" Alan's deep voice blunders throughout the room, his patience with a sickly child and another who doesn't want to listen, wearing thin.

Slightly startled, Amelia immediately sits down on her behind as she slowly turns towards her father.

"If I have to tell you one more time to get off that table, there will be trouble, young lady," his words are methodical, his voice stern, causing her mischievous chestnut eyes to immediately lose their sparkle.

 _And que the dramatics_ , he sighs in defeat as he notes her bottom lip starting to quiver before she cries out loud in agony.

He finishes running the cold washcloth over Alyson's sunburnt arms and face again before leaving her to rest. He walks over to Amelia on the coffee table where she's still sputtering out tears and ear-deafening cries, picking her up onto his hip.

"I know, you're tired, I'm sorry," he places a kiss against her temple as she continues to sob loudly.

Strangely, Alyson was never such an attention-seeking child as Amelia.

_Hopefully, it's just a phase._

He grabs a sippy cup from the refrigerator, pre-filled with apple juice, before offering it to her. Her sobs slowly die down as she sucks on the teet of the cup.

"I think it's time for your nap," he says as he lies down next to a sleeping Alyson on the sofa, Amelia on her stomach on top of him.

"Peta," she starts crying again as the stuffed rabbit slips from her grasp and onto the carpet next to them.

"Shh, don't wake your sister. She just settled down," he hands her her rabbit as he adjusts her on top of his stomach and chest before he adjusts the throw pillow behind his head.

The rattling keys in the front door lock signals (Y/N)'s return from work two hours later.

No words can describe the gut-wrenching feeling she had all day from worrying after the school called her, asking if she can fetch Alyson earlier than usual. Apparently, they spent the whole morning and afternoon on the field out in the blistering sun partaking in Running Day and no teacher bothered to make sure the little ones were wearing sunscreen.

She wanted to be the first one to rush to Alyson's aid, but she was stuck in several critical annual departmental meetings all day. She had to call Alan where he was rehearsing on-stage to hear if he could grab her from school. Sheila offered to watch Alyson since she was already watching Amelia, but (Y/N) knows that as a sick child, you want no one other than your parents' comforting presence.

She kicks off her red Yves Saint Laurent heels in the front room, hanging her beige coat haphazardly on the coat rack, before tossing her keys in the key bowl on the sideboard.

She quietly walks into the kitchen, wondering where Alan and the kids could be, as she sets the shopping bags with Pedialyte and aftersun, along with take-out for dinner, on the kitchen island.

As she wanders throughout the downstairs in search of her family, she wasn't prepared for the heartwarming sight that she happened to stumble upon in the living room: Alan softly snoring, his mouth slightly open, Amelia fast asleep on his chest, and Alyson curled up against his side with her head resting on his thigh. Of course, their ever-present stuffed companions clutched in their tiny hands.

Quietly, she walks closer to the sofa, bending down and picking up the sippy cup that has now spilled most of its contents on the shaggy carpet.

_It's just apple juice, (Y/N), relax. The stain will come out._

Amelia's is the first set of chestnut eyes to flutter open upon feeling another presence close by. She lifts her head of Alan's chest, her curly sandy brown hair tousled as she smiles a sleepy smile.

"Mumma," she stretches her arms out at (Y/N), waking Alan in the process.

She'll never get used to that word: _Mumma._ Her heart fills with love and adoration for her family as she picks the toddler up.

"Hey," Alan grumbles sleepily as he carefully moves Alyson's head off his thigh, adjusting her in a more comfortable sleeping position, before sitting upright.

"Hello," she bends down with Amelia on her hip and pecks Alan on his lips.

He motions for her to go into the kitchen, which they do.

"How is she feeling now?" She asks, worry etched into her tone of voice.

He yawns. "She hasn't been sick again, thankfully, and she managed to keep the paracetamol and Pedialyte down. She's been asleep since," he looks down at his wristwatch, "three-o-clock."

"Good," she breathes a smile of relief. "Aly can use all the rest she can get. We should go easy on her, yes?"

(Y/N) looks down at her youngest with a smile, tickling her neck slightly.

"Yes, Mumma," Amelia answers in quiet laughter.

"Mumma?" Alyson's weak voice calls from the living room.

"Here, I'll take Melly, you go," Alan offers kindly with a smile.

He knows that even though she cried for Alan earlier when his children are sick, especially Alyson, the only person they really want is their mother.

"Hey, darling," (Y/N) settles on the sofa, pulling a weak Alyson into her lap. "Mummy's here."


End file.
